IX. Relinquished

Fall comes early this year. Even now, the leaves fall from the trees in a spectacular descent of orange, red and yellow. I notice the colours, but I cannot rejoice in their beauty. There are other matters that are much more important to my mind as of now.

The time that I both feared and wanted has come. I feared it because I do not want to say goodbye. I wanted it because I desired the best for him. I knew his love of scholarship was greater than his love for power. I do not believe that he has ever wanted the throne. He has not told me that outright, despite the occasional statement about his uncle, but I know him well enough. He does not see himself as fit to rule. His father is a healthy, robust man; he will rule as king for many years to come. My prince does not have to consider ruling now. Perhaps there will come a time later in his life when he will feel that he is ready to ascend the throne, but not yet. Now is the time to spend on the things that he loves – and what he loves, even more than myself, is Wittenberg. I respect him for it, and though it pains me to say farewell, I know I must say goodbye.

I was the one who urged him to return to the land of his heart, after all.

We are standing in his chambers where we can say farewell to each other in private. There is not much time left; he must leave soon. We are standing at his window, gazing out at the magnificent landscape beyond, as we have done many times throughout the spring and summer. However, this time is different. There is a tangible sadness in the air that both of us feel and do not have to speak about.

I keep my hands folded and my head down. I do not know if I can say anything.

"Do not weep for me," he says. "This is not an occasion for tears."

"They come though I do not want them to," I answer.

"Are you angered by my decision?" he asks, sounding puzzled.

"No."

"You do not want me to leave."

A sad laugh comes out unintended. "No, I do not want you to leave," I tell him. "But I do want nothing else but your happiness. You are not happy here in Elsinore. You belong in Wittenberg and it would be heartless of me to tie you to this place."

He sighs. "My actions are breaking your heart," he says. He sounds miserable. "I have brought nothing else on you but anguish and pain."

"No!" I am so shocked by this statement that I utter my rejection of it with profound emphasis. "You have made me happier than I have ever been in all my life. My only wish is that it did not have to end so soon."

"Ophelia," he interrupts, "I am a selfish, inconsiderate man. I fell madly in love with you, but that did not stop me from putting my own interests above the deep desires of your heart. I am hurting you now more than I ever could through my decision to depart Elsinore. I am…" He stops. I know he is fighting with himself; he does it often. He does not want to admit whatever it is he is going to say. It does not matter to me: I love him for who he is.

He is still yet to realize that. Perhaps some day he will and come back to me.

"You do not have to say it," I say.

"You know what I am?"

"I can guess."

He smiles. "Dear one," he says, kissing me gently. "You who know me better than all else. You have been kinder to me than anyone ever has, Ophelia. Know that I am forever grateful for that." He withdraws a rolled piece of parchment. Taking my hands in his, he folds my fingers over it. "Take this," he says. "When you have great desire to think of me in the coming months, read it. I can only hope that it will comfort you."

"What is it?" I ask.

"You will see."

There is a rap at the door. "My lord," a herald calls, "it is nearly time to depart!"

I look up at him, suddenly in a panic. My heart is racing. One hears the stories of heartbreak suffered by women whose lovers must leave them. So this is what it feels like, to have so little time left.

I set the parchment aside and throw my arms around his neck, pressing my lips fiercely to his. He holds me in a tight embrace and for a moment, it seems as though we are locked like that forever as neither wants to let the other go. However, all things must come to an end. Slowly, I draw away and step back. He takes my hand one last time and kisses it. There is no need for words. He looks at me one last time and then turns, striding towards the door. I watch him go, staying rooted to my spot.

It is only when he has left and the door has closed that the tears finally come. They cloud my eyes and rush down my cheeks, uncontrollable. I stagger, my legs no longer wanting to support me. I sit down on the floor, my back to the cold stone wall. I lean my forehead against my hand, willing for my storm of weeping to come to an end. This was just a moment in time. Life goes on. I would pick myself up and carry on, as I always did.

I stare at the roll of parchment that now lies on the floor. I pick it up and close my hand gently around it. Silently, I make a promise to myself and to him, the man I love. My prince. My future king. Hamlet.

I will remember.

Fin

Thank you so much to everyone who read! This story was very experimental for me, so thanks for sticking with it! As it happens, I enjoyed writing in this style so much that I decided to continue the story. Though To Thine Own Self is complete, Ophelia and Hamlet's romance can be followed in the sequel, In My Memory Locked. Check out my profile to find it!

Thank you, once again, to EVERYONE for reading! Y'all are the best!

~Idri